


this long country road, drenched

by sweetiejelly



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Original Fiction, Original Slash, Romance, Smut, porn stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Johnny one rainy morning. Two boys (in porn) trying to find their way in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this long country road, drenched

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladysonsie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysonsie/gifts).



> Written for the amazing ladysonsie. Steph, happy birthday to you! Sorry this is so... not complete? It's this whole huge story in my head but I'd started writing it a bit late and then I remembered how hard writing smut was for me. Ha. *facepalm* So I just did a few moments from their relationship. But um, I tried to put in some things that you liked - rain and dog and tattoo and porn. There are definitely shades of Luke and Noah in these characters, but they're not them, not quite? This is sort of a thank you too, for all of your support and for all of your own writing too. You words and actions they inspire me, and I hope this little gift is okay. <3 Happy, happy birthday to you! :)

The sheen over the city was obscene, a long lover’s lick from slope to slope. 

“Guess it rained, huh?” Nick straightened out an elbow and bent the other, half raised on tiptoes as he stretched awake. In his shorts and reindeer t-shirt, he looked like a little boy out of a picture book. And Johnny felt like he should be offering milk instead of a blowjob, but well, they were out of milk. 

“C’mere.” He wanted to pour olive oil down his throat the moment he heard his own voice. Damn thing always sounded so scratchy when it came to Nick, to saying things to him. 

“Here?” Nick hopped up on the breakfast table in front of him and grinned. Usually Johnny had the height, not Nick. But when Nick made himself taller, like he was doing now, it did something to Johnny, to his circulatory system. 

Respiratory too. He counted in his head - one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three - and dragged his eyes up. Nick looked especially good from this angle with nice, lean biceps that curved up to even nicer, broad shoulders. Johnny took in the kissable span of neck and the smooth jut of chin. Then lips – generous, soft and perfect (even with that dribble of smirk at the corner). 

Nick kissed him with those lips. Then one handedly, Nick reached back and pinched his shirt, arched his spine, and pulled the shirt off. It shouldn't have looked sexy. After all, Nick was swinging his legs the whole time like he was up on an exam table just casually stripping, waiting for the doctor. 

Scratch that thought. They'd actually _filmed_ that scenario. 

Johnny folded his hands over Nick's knees to get him to stop kicking. Of course, Nick being Nick kicked out once more and winked. But then his rhythm faltered. He stopped and swallowed, his grin dialing down to just parted lips breathing, anticipating. 

It was something. Nick hardly ever stayed still. If there was one word to describe him, it would be motion. If there were two words, then: perpetual motion. But for Johnny, Nick slowed sometimes, waited. It made Johnny feel all sorts of good uncomfortable balled up tight in his chest. 

Firmly, he scraped his palms past Nick’s knees, mapping the angle of the bend and the flex underneath until his hands encircled slim ankles. For a moment, he just looked. His fingers around Nick looked like handcuffs (fun ones). Johnny took a breath and tugged Nick forward, bringing him to the edge of the table, closer. 

Nick wiggled his toes and reached. His grin was back, boyishly charming, fucking perfect for the videos they made, not that Johnny was going to get jealous over cameras and crew right now. "'m not the one with the tickle spots,” Johnny reminded him as he pushed the offending toes back and out. Pushed both feet outward, sliding Nick’s legs apart. 

He fit here, right here under Nick’s gaze and Nick’s sharp intake of breath. “Up, off,” he tilted his chin as he stared at the drawstring of Nick’s shorts. They were bright lime green, superbly offensive. Johnny was ninety percent sure Nick wore them, these ugliest clothes possible, to give him incentive to tear them off, to get down to skin. 

Anyway, it worked. It was working. He batted Nick’s hands away - they were too slow, a tease of a tease, if that - and took over. Lightly, he ran his teeth around a nipple, flicking his tongue over the pebbling bud. He lapped over, sucked the other one too as Nick's hands guided him there. His own hands kept busy yanking (untying). Once he got the knots scared apart, Johnny tugged, with much feeling, the green and yellow monstrosity down past hips and thighs, and let it drop. 

Then he was staring at probably the prettiest curve of cock. If he wrote poetry, Johnny would couch some lines about it in a poem ostensibly about the magnificence of long country roads drenched in sunset. He darted forward and licked up center lane. The bulbous sun blushed harder and Nick moaned above him, starting to squirm in earnest. “Oh, yeah.” 

Enthusiastic, appreciative - it was the second thing about Nick that Johnny noticed. “Barely started,” he muttered as he bent his lips to the veins and sucked. Nick squeezed his shoulders and cupped his nape, sighed, then sighed faster. 

It felt good like this, when it was just the two of them, when they took as long as they wanted or went as fast as they needed, when they didn't have to care about their lines or the best angles for displaying their bodies to the world. When there was no world beyond theirs. 

“Started, point is. That’s – _ah_.” Nick trailed off as Johnny took him down deep and sudden, swirled his tongue around the cap the way Nick liked, got everything nice and wet. “Yeah, J.” 

Johnny didn't stop, not even to smirk. Instead he inhaled deep, layering on more suction, more licks, until their scents got so mixed up that he'd be hard pressed to tell their skin apart (by smell, by taste). It'd be easy by sight; everywhere he was dark, Nick was light. 

Nick stretched, in Johnny’s mouth. Stretched his arms too, down to thumb at Johnny's jaw. Stretched his legs until his toes circled like thumbs in Johnny’s lap. And Johnny took a second to wish he had a bigger table. As it was, there was barely enough wood behind Nick for his cup of tea. 

He moved his hands forward, so the back of them no longer hit ceramic, and scooted Nick closer. This thrust Nick deeper into his mouth and Johnny groaned as Nick reacted all over in a shiver and with a string of words - good ones ( _yeah, oh god_ ) and bad ( _fuck, fuck_ ). 

Johnny buried his face further, nosing past Nick's belly, down to wispy blond curls, and cupped Nick's balls. Bobbing now, he sucked in earnest, all hollowed cheeks and hallowed reverence. 

The table and chair nodded in time, scrape- _ah_ -scrape- _oh_ -scraping a whine over the tiles. 

Nick and Johnny weren't any quieter. Johnny worked for it, petting the stretch behind balls and adding in twists to his sucks, and waited for it. 

And in a rush it came. The metamorphosis. It always fascinated him how heavy, hard-muscled collapsed to liquid and lax, how the tension snapped like a snap of the fingers. It was pretty magical, he thought. 

Lazily, he wiped his mouth off on Nick's thigh. Just as lazily, he licked it clean. When Nick started to giggle - boy is seriously ticklish all over - Johnny tumbled him into his lap. Only, tumbled was a dozen degrees more graceful than the truth. 

"Not potatoes!" Nick startled as he gestured in no approximation of a potato at all. (Unless there were some lightning-shaped ones that Johnny didn't know about.) 

"I don't hug potatoes." 

"Don't fuck 'em either." 

"That'd be weird." Johnny tucked his limbs more comfortably around Nick's. 

Nick hummed in agreement, grinding down hard and kissing him softly. The contrast in his movements always gave Johnny a particular ache. It was like Nick needed to temper all of his declarations with "also, you're hot." It made Johnny kiss him back with all of the "also, you're an idiot" that he could muster, which mostly consisted of cupping the back of Nick's head like he was precious. 

Nick's hair really was precious. It held a whole nest of sensations. Johnny couldn't help spreading his fingers there. The thicker edges of the strands were almost rough, brushing against him like blades of grass. The center root of them though was soft as baby ducks. It was an inverse of Nick himself, who was all flirty openness until it came down to the hard stuff, to things like the four letter word that Johnny couldn't say either. 

That Johnny tried to say in other ways instead. Like the way he was petting Nick's chest now with his other hand, hand over heart, swearing, swearing. 

Nick rocked in his lap, rekindling fire, not that fire ever quite extinguishes between them. The first time they met, it was on a set. It was to be another job, another act. Until Nick kissed him hello on his cheek, cheeky and oddly sweet. "Hi, I'm Nicholas. But that makes me sound eighty or like Santa. So, call me Nick." 

"Johnny." Johnny had offered, not quite sure what to say to this bright eyed boy-man. His cheek still felt hot where Nick's breath had lingered. It was high school how nervous he felt (and high school was years ago, before college and definitely before dropping out of med school two years ago). 

One thing he was sure of though - he wanted to peel Nick out of his orange and blue eyesore of a sweater. Then kiss him properly. 

In fact, he even told him so. The first part anyway. It was confusing. Usually Johnny just wanted to make sure the other party had brushed their teeth and washed their hands before getting down to business. With Nick, it was different from the start. 

The flimsy story they were to act out - Nick, a boy turning eighteen, seducing him, a business executive on a layover in Vegas in a plushy, vacant airport lounge on a piano a la _Pretty Woman_ \- well, it didn't justify how hard Johnny got before the first frame or how hard he came. (Didn't justify at all how hard his heart was beating long after.) The director loved it. Chemistry, he called it. 

Johnny called Nick the next day. They skipped down to the Eat diner, ate some pancakes and omelets. It was awkward as fuck, and he could only blame _some_ of it on the old man at the end of the counter giving them the stink eye. He just didn't know what to say when he wanted to lick the syrup off Nick's face for him. He _really_ didn't know what to say when Nick asked about his family, the family Johnny was doing so well pretending didn't exist. 

_Oh, my parents wanted me to be a lawyer or a doctor. Really wanted me to be straight._ That seemed more like fifth date material. Not that Johnny dated enough to know. "They're back east," he settled for saying. "I don't see them much. Just my sister sometimes. Lila. She shows up unannounced. That's the real reason I lock my doors." 

Nick chuckled, but he must have read something in Johnny's tone. "Cool, cool." He said and left it alone. "My folks are from the south," he offered. "I have a brother, Tim. He's like three years older but he acts like he sired me himself. I love that goof." 

Johnny smiled awkwardly around a mouthful. He'd never understood the let's shove our faces with food and attempt to talk at the same time concept of dates. It seemed awfully inconvenient. Then he noticed they were sinking into another silent pause and tried to think up something to say. 

Before he could though, Nick was standing up and clapping him on the shoulder. "Sorry, got a nine o'clock, Ethics 203," he groaned. "Not as insane as an eight o'clock but still." Nick threw down some bills, waved goodbye, and Johnny remembered just in time to throw back half a salute. He thought that was it. The end. 

Only, they got cast together again (older brother's best friend trope this time). And Johnny was stupid enough to call Nick again after. This time they checked out a carnival. Nick ate cotton candy like he was paid to make out with it. Johnny got distracted enough that he tripped over a little girl and made her cry. Mortification made him apologize with all the grace of a grizzly before running. Well, walking away really, really fast. 

He wished he could disappear like the cotton candy under Nick's tongue. Only, Nick wasn't tonguing him so much as laughing at him. "You should see your face! Oh man, nobody would believe me if I said I saw the sexiest man in the biz crying at the fair." 

"Shut it! Nobody's crying!" Johnny picked up his pace and wished the heat he felt on his cheeks was only from the sun blasting and not something embarrassing like blood rushing through trying to spell out oh my gosh darn, sorry, sorry. 

"Dude, I could still hear her." 

"Shut up!" Johnny walked faster, trying to tune out the sniffling of the little girl back by the ring toss. 

"Hey," Nick gripped his elbow and stopped him in his mad dash to nowhere. "Hey, it's - she'll be fine. When I was five, I fell out of my brother's bike and got my leg caught in the spokes. Had to reset my bones. And look at me! I'm fine. You hardly kicked-I mean, touched her." 

Johnny groaned at Nick's grin. "Not helping." 

"Want me to make it better?" Nick leaned in and whispered. And through all his guilt, Johnny felt a fresh flush of desire. "Here," Nick presented him with the remaining bit of spun sweetness. "Sugar makes everything better." 

Johnny wasn't so sure that was true, but he shoved the pink blob in his mouth anyway. Immediately, tingly pops worked their way over his tongue like tiny fireworks. Nick launched into another story, this time about falling out of a tree at a birthday party while trying to rescue this girl's cat. 

"I tried so hard to impress people. Her brother, in this case, who by the way wasn't even looking my direction. After that, I resolved to stop trying so hard." 

Johnny licked the last of the fizzy nothingness off the stick. "What are you saying? You're not even trying to impress me? Or that I'm trying too hard?" If it was the first, Johnny was so screwed. 

Nick shot him a strange look and pulled him to the funny mirrors where he made faces like a five year old. It was adorable (and surprisingly fun), not that Johnny would ever admit it out loud. 

Later, when Johnny was busy navigating between two tall produce trucks on the freeway, Nick drum-drum-drummed a thumb against the matte silver of the car door and finally picked up the thread of conversation. "I don't have the best track record with dating," he said. "Especially people I actually like. And I really like you. Even though you drink tea, look like a model and trip over little girls." 

"What?" Johnny liked the part about Nick liking him. He generally liked people he liked to like him back. But the rest sounded vaguely like an insult. 

"I mean - you know you're ridiculous, right? No, actually," and Nick sighed like it was causing him pain. "Actually, you don't know, do you? You're like those models on runways that everyone wanna fuck. But you don't even know you're at Fashion Week. You just- you play the piano and look like you're thinking really hard. And I swear, if I find out you can sing..." 

Johnny could sing as a matter of fact. His gram was an almost pop star. He shrugged. 

"Oh my god, you could!" Nick groan-grunted, obnoxiously distracting. 

Johnny tried to ignore it, ignore how much he kind of wanted to shut Nick up with his mouth. All night. All week. All whatever as long as Nick wanted him to. 

Kind of like now, seven weeks later, the morning after the first night that Nick had finally stayed over. Johnny licked over Nick's tongue, from the tip where the sweet receptors are scattered all the way back to where the bitter ones lived. He licked him until his own restraint snapped and his hips rolled upward of their own accord. 

"Fuck, J," Nick yanked Johnny's shirt up in hurry, getting the fabric caught on Johnny's ears. Nick kissed over one as his hands got busy with Johnny's PJ drawstring. Whenever Nick's hands flew over him, Johnny felt overwhelmed. He was pretty sure Nick was only human, but sometimes he felt the need to count his fingers to make sure it wasn't all a dream. It seemed like there shouldn't be so much friction and warmth everywhere at once, but there just was whenever he was with Nick. 

Nick was kissing randomly over his face now, getting forehead and cheek, nose and chin. Nick kissed down his neck, like he was Johnny's personal flavor taster. Johnny didn't mind. If he was honest, the slurps and sighs turned him on as much as the actual hickey-making. He tilted his head to give Nick more space, and Nick lifted his head and stared. 

"What?" Johnny tried not to squirm. He was so close and Nick wasn't moving at all now except for a small roll of his thumb over Johnny's jawline. As gorgeous as Nick's eyes were (they were startling like thunderclouds), Johnny didn't think he could come from just a look. "What?" He asked again, his voice slightly strangled. 

Nick gave him a peck, sat back and chewed on his lips, like he was gathering up courage. It made Johnny nervous as jelly. 

"You snore," Nick told him seriously as he rubbed a light circle over the back of Johnny's neck where his lone tattoo - the word 'truth' in italics - hid under his hair. 

Johnny frowned. Was Nick breaking up with him? He couldn't tell. If he was, he had lousy timing. 

"You snore like a puppy," Nick continued. "Like the cutest little sounds." 

Johnny tried not to be offended about being called a puppy. He liked them a lot and had wanted one ever since he understood the concept of pets. "Um," he said quite intelligently. Fact was, he was still ridiculously hard and this conversation might have broken his brain. 

"I didn't think I would like you even more after staying over. I thought I'd like find some secret gross thing - like you drink milk out of the carton or like wore socks to bed - and like fall out of love." 

Johnny blinked hard. This was the first time they've even gotten anywhere close to admitting things out loud. "That was a lot of likes for one sentence," he blurted. 

Nick smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "I only overuse it like when I'm nervous." 

Johnny didn't even have time to crack a full smile before Nick smacked him again, harder this time. "Shut the fuck up!" 

"Didn't say anything." And Johnny realized he really hadn't said anything. Hadn't said anything _back_. "I-" 

Nick kissed him hard, sealing his lips closed before Johnny could get a word out. 

"Wait," Johnny thought maybe he knew what Nick was doing. One of Nick's hands was wrapping around his dick and okay, Nick was really good at this distraction game. But Johnny wasn't going to get distracted - " _God_ " - damn it. 

With much effort, he pried Nick's hand off. "I've never said it to anyone. It's not something we actually say in my family." They didn't even really touch. One-armed hugging was the extent of display of affections around his house. 

"And that's totally fine," Nick was cupping his face gently and kissing his cheek and Johnny really wanted to say it for the first time in his life. 

He nuzzled against Nick instead. "Me too, though," he tried. It sounded stupid and he wanted to bury his face under his pillow, or against Nick's chest. That worked too. 

But Nick pulled his face off the nice pecs and kissed him, smiling all the while. "Okay." 

Outside the rain started up again, light and flirty, tap-tapping on the windows, tap-tapping on the roof. 

Then all of a sudden - a gush. 

_Relief._


End file.
